Crimson
by moonlessmondays
Summary: "Crimson is the color of desire. Crimson is the color of betrayal. Crimson is the color of love. The perfect recipe for a love that is not meant to be." In which James is Robert's brother. Modern AU


**Hello! and welcome to my new story called Crimson. It's AU and Robert and James are brothers not cousins.**

 **I hope you all like it as much as you all liked the other two!**

 **Enjoy!**

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 ** _Prologue_**

Cora Levinson quietly observes the paintings hanging on the wall. She recognizes some of them, the technique now as familiar to her as the back of her hand after years of studying art. They line up along the wall, in varying sizes, all beautiful, all grand. It really does say a lot about the people who own them. Very much like the large mansion currently housing them, it is all a touch too grand.

Downton Abbey is a touch too grand for her.

She doesn't really know what she's expected it to be, or this to be. She is under no illusion that this is something more than it is. It is, after all, a business deal. A marriage brought out by a need. A marriage brought out by the need for the two families to merge, for two businesses to merge successfully and seamlessly.

This is the only way, Mother insists.

And so it is with a heavy heart that Cora had packed up her things and allowed for herself to be shipped off to, to be married to a man she doesn't know and be a part of a society so stoic. It doesn't matter, she tells herself. It's not really a big deal, it's just a marriage, and aren't all marriages borne out of an agreement? Isn't marriage nothing but a legal, binding contract between two people with no hopes of ever getting out of it, no matter how stifling it has become—not for people like them, anyway.

Oh, but how she's wished of love, and to have a marriage borne out of it. How she's wished to be wed to a man her heart feels strongly for, whose life she's willing to spend the rest of hers with. Mother had called her foolish, then, because love, she says, is of little importance in a marriage, and though the world is changing, it isn't changing fast enough, and until then, marriages should not have to require that feeling.

It deflates her spirits, now, as she turns her head every other way, surveying the large estate which Mother told her she'll be living in if she marries into the family. It doesn't really matter to her where she lives, it is the least of her concerns, but there is no way she could run from it now.

She walks a little bit away from the paintings and down to a hall (she has been allowed to roam for the time being, to get acclimatized to her surroundings, so to speak), surprised when she finds the study. Shelves and shelves of books line the wall, and her eyes widen in delight. Well, at least that's something.

Hesitantly, she steps in and inspects the treasures she's just found, but doesn't touch them or take them out, afraid to disturb the seemingly natural flow of things. There are a variety, it seems, different literature from everywhere.

Suddenly, she hears a door open and shut, and she hurries out of the study. She goes into the foyer, skirts whooshing behind her, and bites down on her lip, worrying it just the way her heart and mind worries. She rounds the corner and finds her father shaking hands with the other man, both of them smiling, though her father's is a little too tight.

She wonders if it has gone according to his plan. He turns his head and spies her, their eyes meeting, and there is a certain look in his eyes that she cannot place. He cocks his head to the left, and she doesn't know what to make of it, until she feels her mother's hand on her back, urging her forward (and where had mother emerged?)

It is only then that she realizes her heart has been pounding hard against her chest.

 **…**

Robert Crawley is a man of habit. Every morning, he wakes, gets himself ready for the day and gets some breakfast. After that, he always goes on a walk around the estate, appreciating it in all its beauty, before he goes to work.

Downton Abbey is beautiful, grand and marvelous in all its aspects, and it is home. It has been home for the past twenty-five years of his life. He wonders as he makes his way around the estate, if it still would be.

His older brother, James, prattles on beside him, talking about his exploits lately, and Robert could not be bothered to listen. To be honest, he does feel like James should be more responsible and try to focus on their company rather than the other things that have kept him occupied. Of course, Robert could never voice out his opinions, would never dare even pry to his brother's affairs—it is none of his business, and it would be for the best that he should keep out of his brother's.

"I heard papa has been talking to some people back in the Abbey," James tells his brother, as though Robert doesn't already know this.

Robert throws his brother a side glance, pursing his lips at the nonchalant way that James deals with it, as though none of their futures depend on it. "I know," he says. "But you would, do well not to gossip, James."

James scoffs and shakes his head. "You must learn to live a little, Robbie," he says, and there is that annoying nickname once more. Robert has never really outgrown it. "You know what they say about men who don't play."

"Well, you think I'm already a bore, why should it matter?" he shoots back at his brother, raising an eyebrow. "Besides, it is an important matter, why can't you take it seriously?"

His brother chuckles then, shaking his head. "I fear you're taking it far too seriously for the both of us, already," he answers, before making his way back to the Abbey.

And Robert begrudgingly follows.

 **…**

Cora swallows hard as she tries to keep up to the conversation. The man, Mr. Crawley, the CEO and founder of Grantham and co., her mother says, talks about things that her mind does not want to comprehend just yet. It is all just going way too fast.

Her heart pounds, her breaths become shallow and she tries very hard to regain her sense of equilibrium. She breathes in deeply, and exhales softly through her mouth, but none notices her actions. She steadies herself with a hand on her stomach, and forces herself to sit still. There is really no cause for paranoia. She's told herself over and over that this is highly likely to happen, and it really should not come as a surprise to her now.

Her thoughts are interrupted when a tall man with brown hair and blue eyes bursts into the study. He looks handsome enough, looks like he is well-bred, for he is. He is a son of the owner of one of London's largest companies, after all. He smiles softly, and greets them with his polite charm.

Patrick Crawley stands then, and walks over to the other man, patting his shoulder, and introducing him to everyone.

"This is my son James Crawley," he says, "These are the Levinsons, Mr. and Mrs. Levinson, Isidore and Martha, and this is their Daughter, Miss Cora Levinson."

Cora spies James coming over to where she is sat, a smile firmly on his lips, but before he can make a step, another man comes into the room, this one with lighter hair and even brighter blue eyes.

Cora's heart hammers against her chest and her stomach does a somersault. She cannot keep her eyes off of him, and neither can her, it seems, for he stares at her with intensity that is unfamiliar to her. Her throat seems dry, and she wishes she could say something, anything.

"Oh and this is my other son, Robert," Patrick Crawley introduces him with a proud smile.

The man, Robert, is much more reserved, and he gives them nothing but a nod and shy smile, before he excuses himself, saying he ought to change.

When he is gone, Patrick Cralwey speaks again, "Well, then when should your wedding take place?" he asks, looking at Cora. "What do you think James?"

James smiles, "Oh anytime, Father," he answers.

Cora feels her heart sink further into her stomach.

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 **a/n: I know it's a little rough right now but it'll get better, hopefully. I'm really rubbish with the beginnings I find. haha. anyway, there's that.**

 **Let me know if it's worth continuing or if I should just delete it. :)**


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